


Maker Preserve Me

by kitkatcrave



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Characters own me, Cullen is still Cullen, Devotion, Evelyn is such a virgin, F/M, Faithful Inquisitor, Fluff, Just Read It!!!!, No I'm not rehashing the whole bloody game, Romance, Smut, adoration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4455008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatcrave/pseuds/kitkatcrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, love is enough. My take on Evelyn and Cullen, and the love that happens so beautifully and naturally in game. I'm not going to summarize the whole game. In fact, I'm trying to spend very time on what we already know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My Evelyn is devote and chaste. My Cullen is devote and sees sex as something enjoyed between two people who care deeply about each other (because as a grown woman, I've done both and sex that means something is WAY better). I hope you all like this. Comments are always welcome, even the critical ones!

_Maker, let me be an instrument of your will. Guide me to do your bidding. Make me your sword in the dark, your weapon against sin, make me-_

“Evelyn!”

Green eyes opened in a pale face. Evelyn Trevelyan turned her head towards the Sister that interrupted her prayers, expression solemn. The older Chantry Sister smiled at her and made a gesture for her to rise while saying in a thick Orlesian accent,

“Your devotion does you credit, but now we must put action to our prayers. The Divine is waiting in the sacristy. She asked for assistance with writing down a few more key points before officially calling The Conclave to order.”

Evelyn rose gracefully, brushing the dust off her knees as she stood. She smiled, a little shy, at her superior and dipped her head by means of greeting.

“It would be the greatest honor to serve the Divine in any manner. I shall go to her at once.”

She paused and nibbled at her lower lip before blurting,

“Thank you, Mother Christine! I am so… that is to say, I am glad you thought of me.”

Evelyn lowered her eyes to her toes in embarrassment. Mother Christine smiled at the young woman before her, face so full of enthusiasm. It warmed her to see such happiness and faith in a novice on the cusp of full sisterhood. Gently she said,

“Best not to keep Justinia waiting, child. Go, I shall be here when you get back.”

It was the only time in her life as a Chantry Sister that Mother Christine lied. Evelyn smiled sheepishly and hurried off to aid the Divine.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Cullen.

Cullen was tired. His whole body ached, the lyrium withdrawal shuddered through his veins, and some demon had hit him with enough force to shatter his oak buckler. He knew Leliana and Cassandra had a plan that involved the woman who survived the blast, but would it work? What could a broken and confused Chantry novice do against a tear in the fabric of reality? But Cullen could ill afford to show his faltering morale in front of the army, and so with a heave, he picked up the young soldier leaning on him, and marched dutifully on. 

He heard the crunch of their boots before he turned to see them; Cassandra with her white Seeker emblem emblazoned on her chestplate, Varric with his complicated crossbow, Solas and his probing gaze, and her, the woman from the temple. She was pretty, even covered in blood and sporting a nasty bruise on the side of her face. He guessed a noble’s daughter, promised to the Chantry at a young age. Her expression was determined, though he could taste the fear rolling off her. Briefly, Cullen wondered if she were to blame for all this, but instinct told him she was simply in the wrong place at the right time.

“Commander, is the way clear to the breach?” 

Cassandra’s voice broke through his musings like a clap of thunder.

“Yes, Lady Seeker.”

He paused and readjusted the wounded soldier.

“I’ve kept the men away from the rift, but the demons are gone… for now.”

Cassandra nodded and walked on. Varric winked at Cullen and muttered “Curly” under his breath, and Solas acted as though he didn’t exist. The woman started walking past but stopped abruptly. She glanced at Cullen with wide green eyes and then grabbed a healing potion from her bag. She held it out, so shy in her actions, towards him. He hesitated and then shook his head no.

“I think you’ll need that more than this poor fellow. His wounds are superficial. He’ll live without the aid of a healing draught.”

She smiled slowly and then hurried after Cassandra and the others. Cullen watched her leave with an unreadable expression on his face. Like many in the Chantry taken in as a child, the young woman was obviously sheltered. The hand that held the potion was pale, with a few callouses and small scars likely obtained from working in the gardens around her cloister. She would be smart, well versed in arithmetic and reading alike. Hopefully she had some idea of how to use the twin foot long daggers strapped to her back. He said one last prayer to Andraste, glanced at the temple in front of him, and soldiered on.

***

The ground shook as the pride demon lashed out with it’s whips of energy. Evelyn narrowly avoided being struck, but Cassandra was not so lucky. The Seeker cried out in anger and pain as a gash split the skin of her arm. Evelyn threw a smoke grenade, trying to buy enough time for the warrior to gulp down a potion, but the demon would not relent. They were losing. She knew it, Cassandra knew it, and the demon knew it. Evelyn looked around, desperate for a miracle, when the mark on her hand started pulsing. She heard Solas shout something and point at the rift, and realization washed over her cold and clear. If demons were a part of the fade, and part of the fade was leaking into the world, then it would make sense that the demon was gaining it’s abnormal strength from the rift. She held her hand skyward and willed the rift to close. It was still too strong to close completely, but she managed to stem the magic bleeding from it. The pride demon roared and fell to it’s knees. Cassandra jumped on the opportunity and started stabbing at it while the others hit it with spell and arrow. Evelyn struggled against the power of the rift, feeling it push back.

“Cassandra! I’m losing control! I…”

The rift broke open again, and with it came lesser shades. They swarmed Varric and Solas, sensing their defensive weakness. Evelyn growled in frustration and ran to their aid. She became a blur, her thin daggers stabbing like flying needles. The shades swung their sinuous bodies in confusion, but she moved too fast for them to get a lock on her location. It became an odd dance, one where she was lead. Solas and Varric finished the final shade off and Evelyn was able to turn her attention back to the rift. She held her hand, palm up once again, and poured all her will into making the rift close.

_Make me your sword in the dark, your weapon against sin._

The rift groaned and buckled just as the pride demon shuddered it’s final breath. She felt reality cave in and a strong sense of vertigo gripped her. The air knit itself together again just as the last of Evelyn’s strength left her body. She heard voices, felt a brush of fur, and then darkness.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm a working mom of two, so I will my utmost to get two chapters a week, but don't throw tomatoes if I don't! Comments welcome, even the critical ones.


	3. Chapter 2

Cullen was a soldier. He was disciplined, controlled, constantly aware of his surroundings. Vigilance was his armor, duty his bedfellow. Once, in his early life, he'd slipped and fancied a woman he had no business fancying, but a desire demon and the horrors of Kinloch Hold burned that want out of him better than any fire could. Kirkwall served to strengthen his resolve and hammered home the need for discipline in the face of chaos. If Meredith had tempered her madness... but that was in the past, and 'what ifs' were useless to him. Cullen was a soldier, he would endure, and he would stand tall in the face of the nightmare that gripped their world. He would let nothing distract him, which was the exact reason he was studiously not thinking about the Lady Evelyn Trevelyan. 

He did his very best not to think of her as a woman. He tried to think of her as a figurehead, or an untouchable piece of art. He was failing miserably. Sure, she was pretty, but it was more than that. Her unwavering devotion to the Maker and Andraste was admirable given recent events, as was the ease with which she accepted being a key part of the Inquisition. She fought gracefully, as though she were born to it. He didn’t doubt she probably had a whole retinue of trainers from the time she was little. She was strong, well built, not a delicate flower meant to be looked at. The Chantry would have encouraged such arts if she were meant to be a Templar, but he found it curious that she was destined for the life of a Sister. He sighed and slid his thoughts back to the present, a present where his greenhorn recruits had no idea how to block. 

“Get that damn shield up or I cut your ration of ale in half!”

The recruit looked panic stricken and raised the shield too high. Cullen was about ready to bash the boy’s head in when a woman’s voice floated to his ears.

“Commander? May I…”

He turned and looked at the Herald. He must have still had the scowl on his face because she paused and swallowed nervously.

“I’m sorry, Commander, I can come back another time. I should have… I apologize.”

She gave a little bow, but before she could leave Cullen softened his expression and said quickly,

“No, Lady Herald, there is no need to leave.”

He swallowed and looked down at her, willing his lips to smile. 

“We’ve had a number of recruits show lately. Most are from Haven, but a fair number hail from the surrounding countryside, though none made quite the entrance you did.”

Evelyn smiled, his easy manner bringing out her naturally wry sense of humor. She made a little shrug, meant to convey a mock humbleness.

“At least I got everyone’s attention!”

Cullen gave an amused snort. 

“You certainly succeeded.”

He began to walk in the general direction of the lake, shortening his stride so she could easily keep up.

“I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising, saw firsthand the devastation it caused.”

A messenger came jogging up and handed Cullen a report. He glanced over it, frowning for a moment at the death toll estimation coming out of the Hinterlands. He quickly signed the bottom, an acknowledgement to Leliana that he saw and read the report, before handing it back to the runner. He continued, voice a little harder,

“Cassandra sought a resolution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join the cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.”

Evelyn stopped, and Cullen followed suit. She held her marked hand aloft, looking at the strange swirling green cut that ran across it diagonally. Slowly, Evelyn said,

“It seems I have this mark for a reason. I trust in The Maker. I believe this mark will work.”

She closed her hand and made a fist. Cullen took the moment to admire the set of her shoulders and the determination in her face. He straightened his back and said authoritatively,

“It will work, provided we can secure aid, but I’m confident we can. The Chantry lost control of the Templars and the mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry could not. Our followers would be part of that! There’s so much we could-” 

A blush rose to his cheeks and his arm reached up to rub the tense muscles at the nape of his neck.

“Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

Evelyn’s eyes sparked with mirth.

“No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it!”

Cullen smiled and looked into her green eyes. They reminded him of wheat fields in spring back home, in Honnleath. She returned his smile, and something passed between them. It was small, noticeable only to them, but both felt it. Cullen felt suddenly shy and hot. He cleared his throat, attempting to dispel the awkwardness and gather his thoughts, but all that came out was,

“I-umm….”

Thankfully a scout popped up and handed him a report.

“Captain Rylan has a report on our supply lines, sir.”

Cullen smiled wryly and gestured to the piece of vellum.

“As you can see, Lady Evelyn, our work never stops.”

She nodded, looking a little disappointed that their time to talk was over. Cullen felt a tug, just over his left breast, and stepped slightly closer so she could hear his soft tone.

“Later, perhaps, we can talk more.”

He thought about trying to say something slightly flirtatious about that lecture, but his ears were already turning red and he would prefer if she didn’t know what a bashful boob he was. He turned on his heel and strode purposefully off before she could say anything back. So much for art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments welcome, even the critical ones!


	4. Chapter 3

It wasn't fair. She had made her peace with the Maker, accepted that she would never know the love of a man or the quickening of a baby in her womb. She had sworn herself a virgin, though never said the vow. She would be a disciple of Andraste, cleave only to the maker. His children would be her charges. Why then, when she looked at the Commander, did she feel such a longing for… things?

Evelyn dug the palms of her hands into her eyes and groaned. She thought back to the time when she and Margaret found that ridiculous copy of the Randy Dowager, Quarterly, and how they poured over “heaving bosoms” and “thick shafts”. At 12 she had no idea what half the euphemisms were, at 23 she knew enough to blush madly when she thought of “sweat slickened bodies”.

Commander Cullen was just so, so manly! He was tall, broad shouldered, narrow hipped, with those tawny locks of hair and that scar running through the right side of his upper lip. He looked like a golden knight, riding straight out of legend to rescue some lucky, distressed damsel and make her his lady love. It was ridiculous and completely unfair.

She realized that was the second time in as many minutes she was bemoaning how unfair it all was. Really, if she were whining about being stuck with a glowing green scar on her hand and her sacrilegious title of ‘The Herald of Andraste’, she wouldn’t feel so silly. But oh no, she was whining because the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces was too sexy for her undisciplined and naive little brain to handle.

In a desperate act, she grabbed her daggers off the table and sheathed them on her back. Combat would help clear her head, she could easily avoid the Commander by staying on the lower hill away from the green recruits. There was a sparring ring, maybe she could convince Bull or Cassandra to help her improve against a warrior’s punishing attacks. Put this way; if she failed to clear her head of Commander Cullen’s unfairly (three times now) amazing person, she would be knocked unconscious and hopefully taught a lesson.

***

Bull grinned at her from his position way, way, way above her current spot, flat on her back, with her daggers about six feet out of her reach. Thus far, sparring was not helping at all, probably because his wonderfulness caught her on the way down and said he would come by and ‘try his hand against her’ when he was finished with archery practice. The thought of being that close to him was maddening, not to mention the phrase he used came straight out of that smut journal.

Bull nudged her with a boot, breaking her train of thought. Growling, Evelyn flipped up and rolled to her daggers. She felt a smidgen of satisfaction at the surprised look on Bull’s face. Ha! She actually pulled one on the wiley Qunari! He charged, impossibly fast, but Evelyn was ready. She spun gracefully, her feet light and nimble. Bull was too well disciplined to tire and too strong for a direct hit, but if she could avoid those punishing blows maybe she could- and there it was, the opening. Her wooden training daggers spun expertly with her right one thudding against the extreme upper inside thigh of her partner. She won! She- oh shit. Bull, in his zeal to knock her flat, was totally unprepared for her killing mark, and she, in her excitement at winning, was totally unprepared to keep moving out of the way of the gray giant. This was going to hurt, a lot.

Evelyn made a very undignified whimper, Bull looked a little panicky, and both braced for what promised to be an impact worthy of a Cassandra lecture when, just like those silly legends Evelyn loved so much, a shining silverite sword blocked the blow. Commander Cullen, body arched protectively over hers, had the flat of his blade pressed against the wooden shaft of Bull’s practice axe. From her crouched position, Evelyn couldn’t see his face, but she could see the muscles of his neck and jaw were relaxed, as though blocking a blow from a seven foot tall wall of gray muscle was nothing. Bull dropped his weapon to the side first and roared a laugh. That guy was either laughing, fucking, drinking, or killing; it was all extremes. Evelyn loved it. Cullen lowered his blade and stepped back, finally looking down at her with a concerned crease on his brow.

“My lady Herald, are you alright?”

His voice was like a warm blanket, wrapping around her and making her feel safe. Evelyn rose from her still crouched position and nervously rubbed her hands into her breaches.

“Er, yes. I- um, I’m fine.”

Well, that was lame. She sighed and forced herself to meet Cullen’s honey colored- stop- Cullen’s eyes. She cleared her throat and tried again.

“Truthfully I’m just a little embarrassed. I should have kept moving. I was just so, so excited to finally land a blow on that horned behemoth that I… well I forgot.”

Slightly less lame, but still pathetic. Me talk pretty one day. She could feel that rush of blood creeping into her cheeks, and dropped her chin down, effectively breaking eye contact. Pretty soon her face would resemble a radish and she would rather not see the look on his face when he realized what an idiot she was. To her surprise, Cullen’s deep laugh rumbled in his chest and he placed a firm hand on her shoulder, ducking his head so he could pin her with that gaze again.

“It’s alright, my lady. All turned out well, and I’m sure you’ll remember for the next time you beat Bull.”

At that, Bull trotted over and slapped her back, hard enough she stumbled into Cullen. Bull was yelling something about there never being a next time, but Evelyn couldn’t hear him, couldn’t think. Cullen’s body was hard. He wore warrior’s plate, though it was closely fitted and covered with a warm wool tunic. He smelled like leather and metal polish, and pine trees in snow. His strong arms were wrapped around her, holding her to him, and her arms were pressed against the wide expanse of his chest. For a ridiculous moment, Evelyn hoped he would hold her like that forever. Unfortunately, his grip slackened, his body bowed back, and he looked down at her with a smile tugging the scarred corner of his lip. Evelyn blushed madly and hastily took a step back. She turned around to glare at the still babbling Bull, but the Ben Hassrath spy had that look in his eyes that said ‘you don’t fool me’, so she closed her mouth, crossed her arms, and let the big oaf get it all out.

“... Cullen was here! You would be a squashed bug by now! Never stop moving with a single weapon wielding warrior. We rely on connecting blows so our swings are hard to stop. Great job, Boss! Time for a drink!”

Bull was grinning like a mad man.

“You too, Commander. It’ll be good for the men to see you with your hands around a mug.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this next chapter is giving me fits. I feel like I'm moving them too quickly, but there's ale and a relaxed attitude so... I don't know. I'll post the damn thing soon and you all can burn me at the stake if need be. Comments welcome, even the critical ones!


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not overly happy with this chapter. It started out so well, but the intimacy gave me fits. I kept wanting to rush them. Sometimes I think its easier to sit and write a tale with no idea how the characters will end up. Not the case here, people!

The Tavern was warm and inviting and filled with the pleasant smell of pipe weed and beer. Evelyn didn’t often drink, mainly because the chantry frowned on it’s pius novitiates being seen as anything less than, well, pius. She found she liked the taste of the dark brown ale, especially with the loaf of warm cheese bread she and the others were ripping apart. Bull and Cullen were cracking jokes about life in close quarters and Sera was staring at her boobs and wiggling her eyebrows. She might’ve cared, but the atmosphere and the steady thrum of the tavern had Evelyn giggling and blushing, and ducking into her mug to hide her pleased smile that someone found her attractive. 

The ale made everything have a soft glow and the warm bread in her belly made her feel a contentment she hadn't realized she missed. Cullen, sitting next to her with fire and candle light reflecting off him, looked ethereal. His hair was a crown of gold, his skin was awash with warmth. Steady, Evelyn, it’s the ale. If only it were. Evelyn tipped her mug back and tried to remember how to breathe. 

Cullen, for his part, was intimately aware of the woman sitting beside him. She kept giggling at Sera, who wouldn’t stop making comedic remarks and ogling her breasts; precisely what Cullen was trying not to do. Her eyes were getting that glassy look from drinking the ale and her cheeks were rosy from laughing, and he found her the most enchanting sight in all of Haven. He thought back to when he saw her make that clever little move, slipping her dagger between Bull’s legs, and then when she very nearly ended up on Adan’s table again. That blow had his muscles bunching; it would have dislocated her shoulder at a minimum. 

He felt her thigh brush against his and chanced a glance down. She was blushing, probably like the virgin she was. On a whim and out of pure curiosity, and due largely to the strong ale in his hands, Cullen leaned back and let his leg rest against hers. The color in her cheeks deepened to a scarlet and he took pity by stretching his legs and crossing his ankles, effectively ending the brief contact. He lifted his mug to his lips to take a sip and froze, trying very hard to not groan. Evelyn had twisted in her chair to look at a commotion on the other side of the room, but the close quarters had her very soft and full chest pressed into his upper arm and shoulder. He wondered briefly if she had any inkling that her her breast was so intimately pressed against him, but dismissed the idea almost entirely. She was such an innocent, Cullen wondered if she even realized she had breasts.

Evelyn knew alright, because the moment she turned and pressed against him, her nipples tightened and her breath stuttered. He must think her wanton to do such a thing, and a small part of her hoped he liked it. He had yet to move away. In fact, Cullen was like stone, hard and unmoving. Truthfully she hadn’t considered that he was so near and that turning to see Blackwall besting Krem in an arm wrestle would put her in such a delightful yet embarrassing position. She was about to move away when she felt a large and warm hand grasp the top her knee closest to Cullen. She knew it was him, it had to be. She turned back to look up at him, warmth and pleasure pooling low at his touch. He was still talking to Bull, but his thumb started to rub a little circle and she felt her skin grow hot. 

Cullen extracted his hand all too quickly, but he was pleased to see a look of want on her flushed face. Thankfully, the others couldn't see or he was sure Evelyn would have run out of the tavern in flames. He didn’t know why he'd touched her, innocent as it was, and he thought he might regret it in the morning, but he wanted to give a little bit back of what she was doing to him. He was control and command, and it rankled him that he felt lovesick around her. 

Evelyn cleared her throat, gave half hearted stretch, and muttered something about sleep and Redcliff. She needed to leave, now, before she opened her mouth and said something stupid like "Cullen, take me! I'm yours!" But damned if that man didn't stand and offer his arm.

"Let me walk you back, my Lady. I doubt any harm would come to you, but there are many new refugees about." 

Evelyn could only dip her head in a nod. She was too occupied staring at his arm, trying to figure out how to touch him without losing it. In the end, she let all the air out her lungs, locked arms, and thought herself very clever at having no air to moan with. Cullen tucked her in close and opened the door.

The air was cold and clean, so unlike the humid heat back home. Ostwick had its winters, but it often consisted of a dreary wet snow and barely freezing temperatures. This cold was enough to scald away the blush on her cheeks and make her draw closer to Cullen out of necessity rather than desire. They were both silent, neither wanting to waste the energy on small talk. 

All too quickly, the door to her little cabin came into view and Evelyn knew their (probably totally fabricated on her part) flirting was at an end. Cullen took her hand in his, swallowing it in warm leather worn smooth from gripping a pommel. She bit her bottom lip, sucked in a breath, and blurted,

"Thank you for walking me home!"

She winced at her loud tone and cleared her throat.

"Would you- ehem- would you like to come in for a mug of cider?"

She thought of the jug of hot cider sitting on the hearth, warm from the flames and tart on her tongue. Cullen smiled down at her, eyes like freshly turned soil in spring.

"I'd like that, my Lady."

All Evelyn could do was nod and hastily open her door. Warmth flooded over them, bringing Evelyn's flush back with it. She thought Cullen looked a little red, but it had to be from the cold. There was no way he was blushing on her account. 

Cullen looked around the small cabin felt heat creeping into his cheeks at how intimate the setting felt. Her bed was neatly made, prim and proper like a Sister's, but books were laid haphazardly on every surface imaginable and her breakfast from that morning lay half eaten on a small side table. There was indeed a large clay pitcher of cider warming on the hearth, and several sturdy mugs sat nearby. He sat down in front of the fire, one leg drawn up where he could lean on it and his other stretched towards the yellow-orange flames. He heard Evelyn fold onto to her haunches a few feet from where he was sitting and turned to watch her. 

She was lovely, though he suspected she had no clue. Her actions were neat and controlled, a trait he deeply admired. She was shy, prone to blushing and stammering, but never appeared less than efficient when completing a task. The cider poured steadily into the mug, and he was careful not to let his fingers linger over long when she handed him the drink. Once hers was poured, Evelyn relaxed into a cross-legged position and they both took a long draw. 

“My Lady, I’m… curious where you learned to fight.”

 

Evelyn turned her green eyes on him and tilted her head.

“Where I learned to fight?”

Cullen nodded, taking another drink of the cider.

“You are more than efficient with dual wielding daggers. You move as though you trained for hours everyday. I just can’t help but wonder, why would a Chantry novitiate need such skills?”

Evelyn took a sudden interest in the red gold liquid swirling in her cup. Cullen watched her a moment, seeing her discomfort, and started to wave off his probings when he heard her say softly,

“Templar. I was intended to be a mage hunter.”

Cullen swallowed, nervous energy crackling around him. Every muscle in his body tensed, waiting for her to speak again. Evelyn let out a small sigh and set her mug on the hearth, careful to not look at the ex-Templar beside her.

“Trevelyans are devout Andrastians. I could recite most of the chant by the time I was ten. My mother and father had the heir, my eldest brother Sean, and the spare, my sister Joanna. I am the third child, and the third Trevelyan is always given to the faith.”

Cullen expected bitterness, anger even, but all he heard was calm facts with a slight smile on the word ‘faith’. It occurred to him, though she did not have a say in her fate, she was content with her life all the same. 

"At first I wanted to join the Templars. My cousin is... was a mage, and I wanted to help them. My father was so proud. He donated piles of gold to The Order, brought in the best duelists, assassins, and artificers in all of Antiva. Not that he stopped there, warrior trainers were shipped in as well to let all know that Bann Trevelyan loved his daughter, but all Templars are equal in his eyes."

Evelyn looked at her hands, the slender line of them hiding their strength and skill.

"I was to take my vows when, by chance, I met Divine Justinia for the first time. She was so kind, so steadfast in her faith. She was not always a dutiful Chantry Mother, you know."

Cullen nodded. It was well known that the late Divine was not a perfect woman, and it endeared her to the common folk. 

"She and I spoke of the beauty of contemplation, the peace of living a simple life. A seed of doubt began to grow about my wish to be a Templar. Then Kirkwall happened, the night of my 20th birthday to be exact, and I heard of the monstrosities committed by Meredith and Orsino."

Evelyn noticed Cullen's hands were clenched tight. Impulsively she laid her hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I know you were there. I... I don't..."

Evelyn sighed and let the words go, taking her hand with them. Cullen wasn't interested in how she didn't blame him, how she knew he struggled up to the very end to reel the Kirkwall Templars back in. Instead she continued her story.

"I wanted to serve Justinia, so I hung my daggers on the wall, donned the novitiate robe, and became her scribe." 

Evelyn noticed Cullen looked a little more relaxed. She smiled at him and then looked back at the flames.

"My father wasn't happy at first, but my parents are good people. They saw how happy I was and supported my decision. The Divine called them examples of what parents should be. I think my father almost swelled out of his doublet with pride."

Cullen let out a low chuckle and finished his drink. Evelyn silently offered him another, but he turned it down. He wanted to stay, ask her more questions, know her until he felt satisfied that she was truly as perfect as she seemed, but duty called and she had a long trip to the Hinterlands. 

"Thank you for sharing, my Lady."

Gracefully he rose, and Evelyn hopped up after him.

"I would stay and talk until dawn, but you have a long trip and I have soldiers to drill in the morning."

Evelyn nodded and smiled as Cullen gave a dip of his head.

"Thank you for the company, Commander Cullen. It was nice to sit and talk."

Evyn tried very hard not to wince at the usage of nice, but that's exactly what it was, nice. Cullen gave her that lopsided smirk, the one that tugged his scar and softened his eyes, and said lowly, 

"Just Cullen, when there's no one else about."

Cullen grasped her hand, brushed a kiss on her knuckles that sent her mind swirling in every direction, and walked out into the night. Evelyn remained still for what seemed an age. She liked Cullen, quite a bit more than she realized. She was not prone to long talks or revealing conversations, but he seemed interested in her simply because she existed. For once it wasn’t ‘Tell me about yourself, Bann Trevelyan’s daughter.’ or ‘I want to know everything about you, Herald of Andraste.’ Cullen seemed genuinely interested in Evelyn Trevelyan, just her. She shook herself and crossed to her bed. The road ahead was long, and the path strewn with uncertainty. Now was not the time for dashing knights and daydreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, please leave me comments! I'm not above taking this back down and rewriting it. I'm thinking about doing a letter exchange next chapter, but I might just skip it and have her back in Haven. At some point, I'm doing a chapter solely on Cullen and his day, though probably not until they reach Skyhold. Cheerio, darlings! I hope you enjoyed.


	6. Chapter 7

The first thing Cullen noticed as Evelyn and the others rode in was that she was on a horse. The second thing Cullen noticed was how her whole body drooped. She was still naturally elegant, and her back was straight as a poleaxe, but her shoulders didn't have that energy he remembered and her head seemed to loll on her slender neck rather than perch. She looked, in a word, exhausted. 

He'd received her reports, though they grew scarce as the days turned into weeks. She started so hopeful and full of ideas, but the final report simply asked him to build three watchtowers on the marked areas and stated that she was killing demon possessed wolves. Cullen had the watchtowers built in a matter of days and watched, pleased, as Master Dennet arrived with over 25 good solid Ferelden horses and a promise of more.

He thought about waving to her, but worried that might appear over-eager. He considered asking about the watchtowers, but he would only have to repeat the question in the war room. Instead, he called over to a young female elf and asked her to draw a hot bath for the Herald and inform Sister Leliana that a meeting should probably wait. The elf scampered off, gathering several helpers along the way to get the task done. 

Cullen was just turning his attention back to his recruits when he caught Evelyn making her way towards him. She looked pensive, but gave him a small smile when she met his gaze. Her gait slowed as she neared him and he saw the familiar and endearing shyness settle over her. By the time she reached him, she seemed a little more like her old self and less like the world weary traveler he witnessed earlier. 

"Well met, Lady Herald. Safe return, I presume?"

Immediately her face fell a little, and Cullen knitted his brow. Had bandits accosted them? Perhaps an angry Avvar tribe? He was about to start demanding a recount when her soft voice came out as a broken sob,

"No, no it was not. Between here and Redcliff village, every single person we ran into needed something; food, water, blankets. So many were children carrying babies, telling of how a mage or Templar killed their parents while they hid. I can't- Cullen I'm not-"

He watched, horrified, as tears slipped down her face and her breathing turned to gasping. Cullen immediately drew her to him, his shyness gone in the face of her distress. She buried herself in his warm wool tunic and let him hold her. Cullen remembered the sounds of the children screaming when the Arishok led the attack on Kirkwall, and how the young mages looked so confused when Meredith went insane and ordered their deaths. If Evelyn saw even a fraction of what he did, it was no wonder she seemed about to break. He pitched his voice low and soothing, as though he were talking to a skittish horse.

"Lady Evelyn, I will send out people immediately to help the refugees get here faster. Those horses you brought will be very useful to pull wagons. You have my word, I will get the children." 

Her shoulders continued to shake with her sobs, and Cullen knew he had to get her inside before people started showing up to question why the Herald cried so. He maneuvered her to his side and slipped his arm around her waist for support. Any other time he would have balked at showing such familiarity, but the only thing on Cullen’s mind was getting her to the privacy of her quarters. He rubbed his gloved fingers across the back of her hand fisted in his fur mantel, hoping to convey his sympathy and sincerity. 

The door to her cabin, and a very agitated Cassandra, came into view as Cullen turned the corner with his sniffling charge. The Seeker was pacing, her steps wearing a line in the snow to reveal the stonework beneath. The elf from earlier popped out and smiled brightly at Cullen before scurrying away, probably to speak with Leliana. Cassandra's face went from apprehensive to outright worried when she saw how Evelyn sagged against him. 

"Cullen, what- never mind. We need to get her inside before the people start asking questions."

Cassandra held the door open just long enough for Cullen to half drag Evelyn inside before bolting it shut. She gathered Evelyn from Cullen and led her, as though she were a child, to the little chair by the fire. 

"I have it from here."

Cassandra's voice was soft, but brokered no argument. Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Of course, Cassandra. If there is anything-"

"No!"

Both Cullen and Cassandra looked down, startled by Evelyn's outburst. To be honest, Evelyn looked startled by Evelyn's outburst. She cleared her throat and clasped her shaking hands in her lap.

"Please, please if both of you could stay... I need to..."

She cleared her throat again and felt like an idiot. Some Herald she was, couldn't even form a complete sentence. She straightened her back and tried again.

"The events occurring in the Hinterlands leave me in need of distraction. Would you both stay for a little while, keep me company?" 

Cullen and Cassandra both stared at her a minute before stumbling over yesses and calls for hot tea and cakes. Whether by design or out of chance, Varric stopped by and had a sack of Mead at his hip, as well as good stories for cheering up. Before long, Evelyn found herself surrounded and feeling decidedly better. Seeing starving people would always be horrible, but the people in this room could help, she could help. She could actually change those poor children’s fates, especially if she could just keep her eyes open. 

When Cullen glanced over at Evelyn a few moments later he saw her eyes closed, head hanging limply to her chest. He watched her for a moment, drank in the smooth lines of her face and the purple shadows under her eyes. She was young to have such a burden placed on her, and Cullen felt a surge of protectiveness so strong that he barely managed to keep from gathering her into his arms and telling everyone else to sod off. 

Instead he motioned to Cassandra, who rose and turned down the covers, while he picked her up gently and carried her to the bed. Varric tended the fire, banking it for the night to keep the little hut warm. Quietly, Cullen and the others slipped out into the night, giving silent nods by means of farwell and returning to their own quarters. 

Much later, as Cullen lay awake in his tent, it occurred to him just how much he wanted to stay in that warm little cabin. It also occurred to him it had nothing to do with the heat and space and everything to do with the woman laying on the bed dreaming about war orphans. He ran a hand down his face and groaned a little. There was no denying it anymore; he, Cullen Stanton Rutherford, was smitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the discussion of Mages vs. Templars. I hope I got it across that Evelyn is having a difficult time with the ugly side of war. That's really what this chapter was about. I'll try to have more up soon! Had a case of Strep Throat that just would not go away.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much action, just a lot of feels. Enjoy! Or don't and in that case leave me comments so I can obsess and fix whats wrong.

Sunlight filtered in through her paned windows, the warped glass softening the bright light and giving everything an otherworldly glow. For a very brief moment, Evelyn could imagine herself at the cloister in Ostwick, could almost hear the soft footsteps of Sister Mica as she went to morning prayers. But Sister Mica was dead from the same explosion that should have killed her, and the cloister at Ostwick seemed a lifetime ago. 

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and looked at her hands, both of them. Her left was calloused and strong, a reminder of her skill in battle. Her right was an abomination. The jagged green fissure slashed diagonally across her hand, the fade swirling where skin should be. If she looked hard enough, she could swear the black city floated in the background. She didn’t need to sleep to travel the fade, she only had to stare at her palm.

She stood and looked around her cabin, spying a large tub of cooled water just to the side of her glowing fire. Evelyn tossed a couple logs in the fireplace, gathered her soaps, and stripped out of her clothing. A cold bath was nothing new to her; Templar trainees bathed in streams and lakes when nothing else was available. The water was just cold enough to hurry her movements, though she was still methodical. The embrium scented soap washed away the smell of horse and blood and left her hair and skin feeling soft and almost normal. She knew from the color of the now dirty water that another bath was needed later, but for the moment she had to get up and get dressed.

A new set of armor she’d asked the smiths to make lay folded neatly on her chest with a little note talking about the benefits of nugskin in winter. Evelyn smiled and made a mental note to thank Harritt the next time she saw him. She pulled on the white coat, marveling at how light it was, and started to strap in. She was almost done when her elf, Asha, (the one who was there the morning she woke and became the Herald) came scurrying inside and laid breakfast out.

“I brought fresh bread and jam, my lady, and there’s a tankard of warm milk to help keep the chill- Sweet Maker!”

Evelyn lifted an eyebrow and looked around to see what the fuss was. Before she could spot the problem, her very timid little maid set her hands on her hips, gave her a once over, and said in a tone Evelyn only ever heard come from her mother when she did something very naughty,

“My lady, did you take a bath in that freezing cold water in the middle of winter?”

Evelyn looked at the bath, looked at the elf, and said sheepishly,

“Yes…?”

Immediately, Asha’s eyes narrowed and her finger came up. It was ridiculous how frightened Evelyn was of her breakfast tray wielding maid. 

“Are you trying to catch a cold?! If you want a bath, ask for hot water! I get PAID to take care of you! How do you think it’ll look when our Herald wanders outside with wet hair from a cold bath and starts sneezing? Bad! It will look bad! Now sit down in that chair, eat your breakfast, and deal with the fact that you’re not leaving until I’ve brushed the hair on your holy head completely dry!”

Asha’s cheeks were red, her chest was heaving, and she wore the look of a woman ready to fight. Evelyn didn’t even hesitate. She sat down, mouth agape in shock, and stared. The elf seemed satisfied with her obedience and started brushing her hair. 

Several times, Evelyn tried to engage Asha in conversation, but each attempt was met with a command to eat her breakfast and drink her milk. By the time Asha's brush stopped moving, Evelyn had her plate emptied of food and washed down with the warm milk. Nervously she cleared her throat and stood to look at her maid.

"I, uh, I'm sorry about the wet hair and winter thing."

Asha crossed her arms across her chest and studied her for a brief second before a grin split her face and she said cheerfully,

"Oh that's alright, my Lady. Just take better care next time! Now, I've got your hair done up and it's dry, so you best get to the others. I'll clean up here."

Evelyn's started to the door, but paused before opening it.

"Asha? Could you-"

"Draw you a hot bath when you get back? Certainly!"

Evelyn smiled and walked out into the cold morning. The wind was blowing straight out of the north and right into her face. It cut like a dagger across her cheeks and stung like needles in her eyes. Head down, Evelyn started off quickly for the Chantry, pulling her new coat tightly about her. She was so engrossed with keeping the wind off her face that she missed the figure standing in front of her and walked smack into a very solid chest.

"Oumph!"

Evelyn stumbled back, but was saved from falling by a set of strong hands gripping her waist. Mortified, she started to spout apologies, but they died in her throat when she saw who her rescuer was. Of the several hundred people in Haven to bump into, she would run headlong into Commander Cullen. She saw a moment of confusion flash across his face before recognition dawned, and then amusement started sparkling in his honeyed eyes.

"Cold, my Lady?"

Evelyn's cheeks flamed, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

“Uh, sorry, Commander. The wind was rather strong and I... Sorry."

Before the conclave, Evelyn prided herself on her vocabulary, but at this point, Ferelden might as well have been a foreign language. "Uh, sorry?" And then apologizing again? If Cullen wasn't still standing there, she would have banged her head against the nearest tree and prayed she never woke up. Why did she have to be so lame, especially in front of the guy she had a massive crush on? Cullen dropped his hands from her waist and smiled. 

"I understand. I did grow up in Ferelden, the winters are awful, and the Frostbacks are especially bad."

He took a moment to drink in her appearance. Her hair was braided back in a bun of some sort, and her cheeks were bright from the cold. She looked beautiful, alive, and Cullen had to firmly stomp out the desire to find out if her lips tasted like the red berries they resembled. Evelyn hardly needed his ardor, and all the baggage that went with it, when she had so much riding on her shoulders. Speaking of that...

“Are you feeling better, my lady?”

Evelyn’s eyes glanced away and she bit her bottom lip. It was a loaded answer to a simple question. She no longer felt crushed and helpless at the thought of so many children left homeless by errant Tevinter Magisters and crazy mages and Templars, but she could still see their haunted faces and gaunt bodies. The Hinterlands had to be saved. Too much was at stake to let the situation deteriorate further. This, of course, meant going against the direct wishes of the man in front of her who she so admired. Was she okay? No, not really. She hadn’t been okay since she lost everything at The Conclave, and she wasn’t sure if she would ever be okay again. So, instead of answering, she shot a question at him.

“Would you still support me if I said we should ally with the mages?”

Cullen rocked back and let go of her. He sucked a deep breath in through his nose, head spinning with equal parts anger and acceptance. He would be upset with her, he might even raise his voice, but he would never stop supporting her. Somewhere along the way she had morphed from The Herald to Evelyn, and Evelyn was fast becoming something precious. Gently he grabbed the bottom of her chin and met her eyes while his other hand came up slowly and grasped her upper arm.

“My lady… no, Evelyn, I would be angry, I would argue, but I would never stop supporting you. I will always be here for you, and not just because you’re The Herald.”

Her eyes widened at his short speech and she wondered what he meant by ‘not just because you’re The Herald.’ Her hand came up and was inches from his cheek when Sera’s voice rang out behind her.

“Oy! Just kiss ‘im already Evie! Bet’er yet, go find dark corner and fu- ARGHHHHH!”

By now, Evelyn had whirled around, ears red, and started frantically trying to shut her up. Who knows (okay, Evelyn knew she just didn’t want to think about it) what the vulgar little elf would have said had Bull not shoved her into a particularly deep snow bank. Evelyn could have kissed Bull right then. Sera floundered around in the snow, shouting curses and trying to extricate herself while Bull laughed and shoved her back in.

“Go on, you two. I got feisty under control.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I've had the next chapter partially written for six months now. I'm skipping over the whole "Back to the Future" bit of Redcliff because, frankly, a lot of you lovely writers already did that scene justice six ways from Sunday and I don't much see the point of trying to copy. The next chapter deals with the burning of Haven and the long cold walk back to Cullen. Am I the only one who would totally trek through a blizzard if it meant I got to snuggle Cullen at the end? Leave me comments! They feed my creativity, and make me feel loved.


	8. Chapter 7

Evelyn’s eyes sought Cullen’s. Her heart hammered in her chest, the mark on her hand pulsing to the rapid beat. She wondered, briefly, if she had not become The Herald, would she have met Cullen? She realized it didn’t matter. The Maker had a job for her, and for the first time in her young life, Evelyn felt hate. She and Cullen… she and Cullen might have been so much more than Commander and Herald, but The Maker saw fit to lead her straight into the maw of death.

“If it’s me he wants, I’ll be happy to oblige him.”

Cullen had a momentary look of confusion. 

“But then how will you-”

She saw his eyes widen, saw his chest suck in a breath, saw the way his lips parted. It was in that one moment of vulnerability that she realized he liked her for more than just a soldier to throw at the enemy. Evelyn vowed to get back to him. She would find a way. She had to. The Maker could kiss her Marcher ass. She would do this for Him, and then she was going to find out what it meant to kiss those lips and feel that smile under her mouth. 

Cullen’s momentary shock ended and ‘The Commander’ came back. He straightened his shoulders and hardened his gaze, hardened his heart. When he spoke, she heard the order in his voice as clear as if he said ‘don’t you dare die’.

“If we are to have a chance, if you are to have a chance, you make that- that thing hear you.”

Evelyn nodded, the lump in her throat smoothing away. Somehow she would get through this. Somehow she would find a way to cheat death. She took one last slow look at Cullen, memorizing the lines of his face, and walked into the chaos.

 

***  
  


She tried to remember warmth. Fire came to mind, sun, warm brown eyes and golden hair… Cullen. She let out an involuntary sob and immediately bit it back. If she cried she was lost. Crying would be an admission of defeat. She was still moving, still breathing, she still had a shot at walking away from this. She was strong, resolute. She was the sword in the darkness. 

Her booted feet trudged on and she listened to the sound of wolves with growing unease. Wind from the north cut into her face like a carving knife, found all the holes and tears in her armor. If those wolves happened upon her like this, numb from cold and weak from the struggle, she would die. Her only path was the occasional remains of a fire, or the skeleton of an abandoned wagon. How long had she been in the catacombs? How long had she slept in the ice and snow? 

Pine trees started appearing, and the wind cut back, but the snow got deeper until she was forced to lift her legs in a mock march. More fire pits, more abandoned wagons, but still no people. Her only consolation was that there were no graves or frozen corpses. Cullen got them out. Cullen had saved them all. 

Another howl, this one much closer, had her doing a strange shuffle run towards some rocks and an abandoned mound of embers. Embers! The embers were hot! Relief surged through her, and then she did let a few tears fall. In this weather, it wouldn’t take long for embers to grow cold, which meant she could only be an hour, maybe two, behind them. Evelyn paused for a brief moment, wondering if she should blow on them and try to rekindle the fire, but she decided to trudge on. The more time she spent trying to get warm, the farther the refugees moved and the closer the wolves came.

Hugging herself, Evelyn resumed her march and made for the split in the rocks. She could see the light from the camp about a mile off, and started to move faster, when a low growl behind her made her stop. She turned around, scared of what she would find, and saw a large gray wolf with his hackles raised snarling at her. If she wasn’t so afraid, Evelyn would have laughed. The camp was in sight, she had survived Corypheus and a blizzard, but one wolf was going to be her downfall. The wolf bunched it’s hind legs and jumped. 

Evelyn dropped into the snow, hoping it would sail over her. She expected pain and the sound of ripping flesh, instead a whiny yelp filled the air. She looked up in confusion to see the wolf lying several feet in front of her with an arrow in it’s chest and a rapidly growing scarlet stain. Her heart hammered in her chest and a weightless feeling filled her. Lacking the strength to actually stand, Evelyn rolled over into a kneeling position and saw Cullen, Leliana, and Cassandra running towards her. She could hear them shouting her name, but all she could do was stare.

Leliana would have shot the wolf; Evelyn knew her skill with the bow. She knew she should be thanking Leliana, but all she could do was breath a quiet “Cullen”. He had come. He never gave up on her. She vowed as soon as she warmed up and had a proper meal, she would kiss him and tell her how he kept her going through all of it. For now though, her vision started to swim and she barely registered Cullen picking her up and wrapping her in his wool tunic. She tried to lift a hand to his face, but he shushed her and held her closer. Later, she promised, later she would hold him, but for now her world was going black and sleep washed over her in warm waves.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? I know its short, but the next one will be longer. I'm going back and forth on whether or not to have them kiss next chapter or give it one more. Hummmmm...


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